


The Perfect Recipe

by abstractconcept



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Simply the two of them having a fluffy moment as a couple. Fenris practices his reading comprehension with a cookbook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Recipe

**Author's Note:**

> I call this part of my “Naked Baron” series, only because my Hawke/Fenris stories can usually be identified on the kinkmeme by the fact that they mention, in passing, the Baron who lives next door and has a penchant for nudity (and Fenris).
> 
> Also, I'd add that this is m!Hawke/Fenris, not Fenris/m!Hawke. I draw a distinction and it annoys me that we can't keep it tagged the way we want it. >:( It's a very uncomplicated shorthand for who tops (though in this particular fic there's no actual sex; I just want to note that I find this useful shorthand and I see Hawke as very toppy.)

**Title:** The Perfect Recipe  
 **Author:** [](http://the-con-cept.livejournal.com/profile)[**the_con_cept**](http://the-con-cept.livejournal.com/)  
 **Pairing:** m!Hawke/Fenris, Dragon Age II  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Contains(s):** Fluff  
 **Summary:** Prompt: Simply the two of them having a fluffy moment as a couple. Fenris practices his reading comprehension with a cookbook.

I call this part of my “Naked Baron” series, only because my Hawke/Fenris stories can usually be identified on the kinkmeme by the fact that they mention, in passing, the Baron who lives next door and has a penchant for nudity (and Fenris).

 **The Perfect Recipe**

“No, you’re _not_ coming in,” Hawke said sternly.

The Mabari barked and ran around in a little circle.

“Don’t sass,” Hawke warned. “Anyway, you’re covered in mud. You wait out here and I’ll send Bodahn out to scrub you down.”

He ignored the Mabari’s whining protest, went into the front hall and managed to peel off his mud-sticky boots. His ears perked up at voices inside the house. Usually he didn’t come home to that sort of thing. Bodahn liked to talk, but Sandal, not so much. Was Isabella visiting? It couldn’t be Varric—he’d just returned from Sundermount with Varric, Merrill and Aveline, and Varric had said he was going straight to the Hanged Man to drink until forgot about elves—or possibly until he saw elves. Hawke couldn’t remember.

“You could try the Orlesian cheese, sir,” Hawke heard Bodahn saying. He followed the voice to the kitchen. “I understand they have some very fine cheeses.”

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Fenris grumbled. “But I daresay that substituting Orlisian cheese for Antivan is going to cause problems with the recipe.”

“What is everybody doing in my kitchen?” Hawke demanded, poking his head in.

Fenris winced.

“Enchantment!” Sandal exclaimed.

“Er . . . Master Fenris wanted to make something nice for you,” Bodahn told Hawke. “And I said, ‘Well, isn’t that nice?’ He’s going to the trouble of baking you a nice quiche, sir.”

Hawke stared. The kitchen was in disarray, bowls and spoons and flecks of batter everywhere. “A quiche?” he repeated.

“That’s right, sir. A nice, fluffy quiche,” Bodahn said soothingly. “So if you don’t mind waiting until dinner is served, sir, we’ll give you a call. And I should get out of those muddy clothes if I were you, sir. Not hygienic for cooking, sir.”

Hawke ignored this. Fenris was wearing an apron and a scowl, and he hadn’t said a word since Hawke walked in the door. “You’re baking me a quiche?” Hawke said.

Fenris drew himself up and looked haughty. “I was merely practicing my reading skills. There’s no need to get sentimental about it. It was simply a . . . practical application of my evolving skills.”

Hawke bit back a smile. He had a feeling Fenris was not being completely honest, but it was hard to mind. “Ah. That’s very smart of you. Finding a way to apply reading to everyday life is bound to help motivate you and help you see how reading can be useful.”

“Exactly!” Fenris said. “I mean, I’ve been though your library, but it’s all very dry. I don’t see how you can get through Anders’ manifesto without falling asleep, and Aveline’s suggestions were even worse. But then I found a recipe book, and I thought . . . well, why not?”

“I _like_ eggs,” Sandal put in.

“Er, Bodahn, could you please make sure my Mabari is cleaned off before he comes inside?” Hakwe suggested. “Otherwise he’s going to make straight for my bed and I’ll be scrubbing pawprints out of my sheets for at least a week.”

“Absolutely, sir. Let’s go play with the doggie,” Bodahn told his son. “I think Master Hawke and Master Fenris have this _well_ under control.”

As Bodahn steered his son from the room, Hawke looked at Fenris with raised eyebrows. “Practical applications in reading and cookery, huh?” he said.

Fenris sighed. “Fine. I _missed you._ I wanted to be here when you returned and it was a convenient excuse. Now come here and show me you missed me, too.” He began to undo the apron.

“No, leave it,” Hawke urged. He swooped in and kissed Fenris hard. The elf wrapped his arms around Hawke’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Hawke kissed his way to Fenris’ ear. “You,” he muttered, kissing and biting Fenris’ ear, “are a tasty dish to come home to.”

Fenris laughed a husky little laugh that sent a shiver down Hawke’s spine.

How Hawke loved this man. He loved everything about him, from the way he held himself to his occasional churlishness. He loved the way he could count on Fenris, always. And he loved how, when they were alone, he would sometimes catch the elf giving him adoring looks when he thought Hawke wasn’t paying attention.

Hawke kissed his way down the side of Fenris’ neck. Hawke knew there was a spot, right beneath Fenris’ ear that, when touched, made Fenris—

Fenris groaned, knees going week. He sagged back against the pantry door. “Hawke—” he said rather breathlessly. Hawke absolutely loved Fenris’ bedroom voice. He always knew he was doing something right when it flipped from a rumbling sultriness to a surprised, breathy little moan. Fenris was a guarded man, so Hawke found his grudgingly-given vulnerability as tasty as honey. “I could go down on you,” Hawke suggested hopefully. That would be fun, especially with Fenris in his apron. Or out of it; Hawke wasn’t picky.

Fenris buried his hands in Hawke’s hair and kissed him once more, thoroughly, before pulling away. “That . . . is enough,” he said with as much dignity as he could manage.

Hawke huffed in disappointment, but let go. “Why?”

“If you fill up on treats now you won’t be hungry for dinner,” Fenris said in a dry voice.

“Got me there,” Hawke replied, laughing. “Can I help with anything?”

“Wash your hands first. I’d suggest a bath, but I suspect that would only lead to further carnal shenanigans.”

“You better believe it,” Hawke said, wiping his hands with a rag.

Fenris was already bent back over the table, scowling at the recipe book. It always amused Hawke to watch the elf glare at each little letter as though its very incomprehensible existence was a personal affront. “Add salt, p-pepper, and them.”

“Them? Who?” Hawke asked.

Fenris pointed uncertainly at the book. “Them? Thine? Thime?”

Hawke had a look. “Oh, _thyme_. Yes, I’ve got some of that, I think.” He went to the pantry and rummaged round a bit. “Yep. It’s an herb.”

“I know that.” Fenris took the dried herb and sniffed it. He crumbled a little in his hand and tasted it before nodding his approval. He might not be able to read, but he had a good palate and was widely traveled, having been exposed to the foods of many cultures. “Yes, I think that’s right.” He went over to the bowl and sprinkled some in and began whisking. “What next?”

“Uh-uh. You can’t get me to help you cheat. If the point is the reading, you’d better do the reading. But I’ll help with anything that doesn’t make sense,” Hawke offered. He sat at the kitchen table, watching.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled, taking the book. “Strain mixture th-through a . . . fine-meshed Steve,” he announced.

“Probably sieve,” Hawke corrected. “Although if that’s a Darktown recipe book, it might actually be Steve.”

“Sieve does make somewhat more sense,” Fenris admitted. Hawke admired his lanky body as he bent, rummaging in cupboards until he found what he needed. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask how your trip went.”

“Spring in Sundermount. Oh, it was _wonderful._ It only rained three nights out of four. Also, early spring is apparently giant spider breeding season! Romance was in the air. Well, giant spider webs were in the air, anyway.”

Fenris snorted. “Did you find the statue?”

“Yes.” Hawke rummaged in his bag and pulled the thing out.

Fenris set his spoon aside to accept it. He looked at from all angles. “This,” he announced, “is quite possibly the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. It looks like a deformed monkey passing wind,” he added, squinting at the carved face.

“It’s probably cursed, too,” Hawked said cheerfully.

Fenris gave him a fond look. “You and your insane adventures and your cursed relics,” he said.

“I have to keep up with Isabella,” Hawke explained.

“Right.” Fenris glanced up. “It’s snowing out,” he noted.

“One last winter blast before the daisies and tulips, eh?” Hawke said.

“Have you _ever_ seen a tulip in Kirkwall?”

“Not as such. If one ever showed up, someone would probably stomp on it or eat it.” Hawke couldn’t help but smile, though. Everything was hushed and soft outside, muted by the snow, and the kitchen was lovely and warm, lit by a roaring fire in the grate.

“It is cozy, isn’t it?” Fenris said as though reading his mind. He slipped into a chair beside Hawke. “You know, after killing Danarius . . . I wondered, for a long time, where I should go.” He gave Hawke a smile. “I’m just starting to get used to the idea that I don’t need to go anywhere at all.”

“I know what you mean.” Hawke put his hand over Fenris’.

Fenris looked a little embarrassed by this, but didn’t pull his hand away. He gave a casual little shrug. “It’s nice to spend a day at home,” he said.

 _Home._ Hawke didn’t say anything; he just squeezed Fenris’ hand. Words like that were worth a thousand golden statues. They looked at each other for a long moment, smiling a little. “I could stand to do this more often,” Hawke said. “Spend an evening in.”

Fenris’ eyes twinkled. “You’d get bored.”

“I’ll never get bored with you,” Hawke said. Even sitting here holding hands with Fenris set Hawke’s heart racing almost as much as facing a dragon. Of course, this might have been because Fenris was every bit as fierce as a dragon and had been just as thrilling a conquest. Plus he was cuter.

Hawke’s dog ran into the room, still damp and barking happily.

“All clean!” Bodahn announced. “He wasn’t half happy about getting a b-a-t-h, though.”

“Bath?” Fenris said, sounding it out.

At the dreaded word, the dog darted back out of the room, whimpering.

“Well, that’s good. I was wondering how I was going to get him out of my kitchen,” Fenris said.

“Your kitchen?” Hawke repeated. Fenris seemed oblivious to Hawke’s surprise, but that was fine. A few years ago, Hawke wouldn’t have been able to imagine to come home to find Fenris waiting for him, let alone calling it ‘his’ kitchen.

“It’s not sanitary having dogs in a cooking area,” Fenris told him sternly. Then his face softened a little. He lifted Hawke’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles. “I need to get back to the quiche,” he said. Hawke grinned as he got up and went back to mixing.

“Sandal and I are ready to help in any way we can, Master Fenris,” Bodahn told him. Sandal clapped and rose up on his tiptoes, trying to see into the bowl. Fenris obliged by tilting it so the boy could see the egg mixture.

“This quiche is going to be better than magic,” Fenris said smugly.

“Enchantment!” Sandal agreed.

“No!” Hawke and Bodahn shouted in unison as Sandal’s arm shot out. Before anyone could stop him, he dropped the rune into the bowl.

The concoction exploded, a wave of heat and eggs and herbs blasting everything in the kitchen. Hawke had just enough time to duck behind the table. “Fenris!” he yelled as soon as the smoke had cleared. He got up and vaulted over the table. “Are you all right?”

Fenris looked rather shell-shocked, covered in bits of egg, blinking. “I’m pretty sure fire runes are not part of the recipe,” he grumbled.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry, sir, this is _all_ my fault,” Bodahn fretted. “I wasn’t watching him properly, sir!”

“Are you hurt?” Hawke asked, gingerly putting his hands on Fenris’ shoulders.

Fenris sighed. “No, I just have egg on my face,” he said, scowling.

Hawke wiped a bit off. “Lucky you were wearing an apron,” he managed with a straight face. “You have to admit, it’s a very fluffy quiche,” he added. “It just didn’t make it into the pie pan.”

Fenris gave him a _look_.

Hawke avoided his gaze and looked around his kitchen, which was covered in bits of egg and cheese. The dog poked his head in, ears perked. He immediately began licking the floor. _And_ Hawke was still splattered with mud, as well. “It’s a fine day when everything in my house is filthy except the Mabari,” he remarked.

Fenris sagged. “I was hoping for an uneventful evening of reading and cooking by the fire,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said. “Here, let’s go have a bath and then I’ll take you out to dinner.”

“That . . . sounds acceptable,” Fenris replied.

“My boy and I will clean up down here,” Bodahn said. “It’s the _least_ we could do.”

“Thank you, Bodahn.”

* * * * *

A half hour later found Hawke sprawled in a large hip bath in front of his own fireplace with Fenris in front of him, leaning back on Hawke’s naked chest. Fenris took a large swig from the fine bottle of Tevinter wine he’d brought for dinner and passed it back to Hawke.

“I guess this isn’t so bad,” Fenris said. “And we’ve still got a rather charming view of the snowfall,” he added, gesturing to the window.

“Yes. And Baron de Girard has a rather good view of us. But he stopped me in the street yesterday and told me that homosexual relations between a human and an elf is an affront to Andraste, so he probably doesn’t want to watch.” Hawke and Fenris looked next door, where the Baron stood framed in a window, glaring at them. “Hello, Baron!” Hawke mouthed. He and Fenris waved enthusiastically.

Looking disgusted, the Baron drew his curtains closed.

“That wasn’t very friendly,” Hawke said, taking a pull from the bottle.

“He probably wouldn’t have closed the curtains if he didn’t know we saw him watching,” Fenris pointed out.

“Oh, no doubt. Every time you visit, he looks at you like you’re a fine steak.”

Fenris chuckled.

“By the way, I got you a gift,” Hawke said. He reached over the side of the tub and stretched until he could just reach it.

“Another book?” Fenris said.

“I think you might like this one,” Hawke told him. “It’s rather ah, entertaining than quiche.”

Fenris flipped it open and began reading at random. “Frederick settled between Hans’ legs and l-iked, no—licked his way up the length of the man’s ri-rigid cock—Hawke! This is filth,” he said, but he was laughing. He looked at the cover. “The Champion of _Cock_ wall. By Varric Tethras. Of course.”

“I think you’ll like it. It’s actually pretty good despite the title. It has a sensual, brooding elf with a tortured past who seduces the hero and they have sex in pretty much every setting and every position possible.”

Fenris chuckled again. “Sounds compelling,” he said.

“Well. You know. I just thought . . . you said the other stuff was dry, and this is rather, um, juicy.”

“I expect it is,” Fenris said wryly.

“And it has woodcuts, which are very educational. I mean, some of it’s unrealistic so you can’t actually say it’s instructive, but it’s still rather inspiring.”

Fenris leaned back and gave Hawke a playful look. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hawke said. He kissed Fenris’ shoulder.

Fenris’ smile grew smug. “A little to the right,” he suggested.

Hawke kissed that special place right beneath his ear and Fenris moaned. “What about dinner?” Hawke asked.

“What if we skip dinner and stay here and I . . . read aloud to you?” Fenris said. He gave a little wiggle, his wet, slippery body sending a flood of warmth into Hawke’s stomach.

“Count me in,” Hawke said, nipping Fenris’ neck.

“You’ll just have to help me with the hard words.” He blushed at Hawke’s wicked smile. “I mean—the long words.”

“The _long, hard_ words? Sure, I’ll help you with those,” Hawke said with a laugh.

“You know what I mean,” Fenris said.

“You, me, a bottle of wine, a hot bath and a good book? Sounds like the perfect recipe,” Hawke told him.

 


End file.
